


I Won't Ever Be Your Cornerstone

by YourFadedGlory (HisNameWasAce)



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt!Brian, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Misunderstandings, Post 'The Fast and The Furious', Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:08:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisNameWasAce/pseuds/YourFadedGlory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, there was so much blood.</p>
<p>There shouldn’t have been that much blood.</p>
<p>Brian found himself chuckling, the sound getting stuck in his throat as blood gurgled up in it, threatening to choke him.</p>
<p>It would choke him, he realized.</p>
<p>If the blood loss didn’t kill him, which it very well could, then he’d drown in what little was left.</p>
<p>God, he was going to <i>die</i> here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **“Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.”**
> 
>  
> 
> _― Stephen King_  
> 

The rent got hiked up again in May, when Pudgy-Peter the landlord was already beating down his door about the payment he missed in April.

By June there wasn’t much of a choice, Brian packed up what little he had and left.

He ended up on the outskirts of Echo Park, which in truth was probably still too close to Toretto's to be advisable. The two story apartment complex was battered, with a flickering sign out front that read Parkview one third of the time and P ew for the rest.

The concrete stairs that led to the second floor had sizable chunks taken out of them, the blue paint on his door was peeling, and the window facing the inner courtyard was decorated with two spiderweb cracks. It didn’t fare much better on the inside either. A plethora of questionable stains left the true color of the carpet a mystery, the linoleum in the tiny kitchen was chipped and discolored, the water pressure was pitiful, and the air conditioning unit emitted a horrific screeching noise in the miraculous event it actually turned on.

Brian set down the two boxes and duffle bag he’d managed to pack five years of his life into and observed the cramped space with a grim smile. It was a definite downgrade in comparison to his old place, but the rent was manageable and with his bank account sucked dry by fines and unemployment, functionality had to take precedence over luxury.

He unrolled his futon and covered it with a threadbare set of sheets before throwing a cup of ramen in the microwave for dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He’d make it through somehow, he always did.

* * *

**6 months later**

Somewhere along the way he managed to find work changing oil and rotating tires for a garage that’s most exciting clientele swung from soccer moms irate about their busted down minivan to men in the midst of a midlife crisis who were trying to make up for lost time by throwing money at two door wannabe sports cars.

Just like everything else in his life since he handed those keys to Dom and earned himself a swift and brutal dismissal from the force, the job and the salary that came with it weren’t much, but it was enough to pay the bills and keep his stomach relatively full.

His coworkers tended to ignore him, whispers going around about how his background check had turned up multiple criminal offenses and a blacklisting that spanned every field of law enforcement down to even lowly mall cops. But  luckily for Brian the shop’s manager had been more interested in his talent than his rap sheet. Besides, he wasn’t particularly looking to make friends, even if he take a bit of a shine to the kid normally working the counter.

Jimmy was kinda twitchy and spastic, in a way that reminded him entirely of Jesse, who by some grace of god had survived surgery and disappeared with the rest of Dom’s crew to Mexico or Tokyo or wherever it was they ended up.

They took their lunch breaks together when they could, Jimmy rambling about his community college classes, and Brian listening patiently while chewing on the same combination of white bread, bologna, and mustard, he’d been packing for months. The kid had a sweet tooth like only teenagers did and he was always willing to split his cupcake or twinky. Brian wanted to be too proud to mooch off the offering, but that kind of pride had left with the fifteen pounds of muscle he’d lost since leaving the force.

* * *

 

He’d just finished closing up shop, waving to Jimmy as he stalked out into the cool night air. L.A. never truly got cold, not even in the heart of December, but it was still cool enough to make Brian tuck his arms in close as he started his walk home. He’d gotten his holiday bonus that morning, an extra fifty bucks that felt like a lead weight in his pocket.

Tempted by the prospect of something other than ramen or mac and cheese, Brian ducked into the minimart around the corner. He stocked up on a carton of eggs, a fresh gallon of milk, the nice kind of canned soup, some bread, and because he could afford to splurge a bit he bought a box of ding-dongs for himself and a box to put in Jimmy’s stocking at work.

Brian made a bit of polite small talk with the cashier, carefully tucking the change she handed back to him into the safety of his wallet. With a smile and a good natured ‘happy holidays,’ thrown over his shoulder he walked back out into the world of flickering streetlights and shadowed alleys.

He was only three blocks from home when a beer bottle went hurdling past his head.

“Hey, Pig!”

Brian didn’t slow down or turn at the shouted insult. After he’d moved in it had become readily apparent that many of Echo Park’s residents recognized him from the media shitshow that had gone down after the truck jackings. He’d gotten into a few scraps with thugs and street racers who thought they’d had a bone to pick with him over Dom and there had been a rather disgusting incident in early August when some asshole had taken it upon himself to repaint his front door with pigs blood.

But once word got around that Brian gave just as good as he got, most were content to sneer and spit insults at him from afar.

This guy apparently hadn’t gotten the message.

* * *

 

 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and Brian tightened his grip on the grocery bags he’d been carrying before whipping around to face the guy.

He was definitely latino, thick set with a beer gut, sloppy tattoos scrawled over his arms and a white bandana tied around his forehead. The stench of stale alcohol radiated from him in nauseating waves, his yellow teeth twisted in a crooked smile.

“Can I help you, vato?” Brian demanded, feet planted and knees slightly bent, a phantom of the stance beat into him by a variety of law enforcement agencies. Weight loss aside, he could take the man in front of him and barely break a sweat doing it.

“Yeah pig, you can pay me your dues. This street is mine, you wanna use it you fucking joto, you gotta pay the toll.” The man held out his hand expectantly, when Brian didn’t do more than cock an unimpressed eyebrow, he got a sloppy right hook slammed into his gut. The blow would bruise, but he’d taken worse.

Dropping his groceries, Brian balled his fists and went to work. While his assailant had misplaced drunken rage in his favor, he lacked any sort of skill, throwing out punches and kicks like some squabbling teenager caught up in his first school yard brawl.

After letting the man got in a few cheap shots at his face and chest, Brian decided he’d had enough and dropped him with a hard sweep of his legs, bringing his head down against his knee and watching the asshole curl in on himself on the filthy pavement. Satisfied, he wiped the blood trickling from his nose and moved to collect his groceries, the sweet hum of adrenaline in his veins fading as quickly as it had come.

Glass shattered somewhere behind him, just as Brian turned toward the sound a blinding pain tore through his stomach. He lurched unsteadily, dropping the bags in his hands to clutch at his abdomen.

His blue eyes trailed down his body, fixated on the broken bottle shoved through his flesh. Falling back, Brian landed hard on his ass and eventually his back, fingers spasming over the wound that sent fire racing through his veins.

God it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad.

The asshole he’d beat down was hovering over him, grinning with sick satisfaction. In one deft movement he twisted the broken bottle, wrenching a scream from Brian’s throat as black dots danced in his vision, the pain threatening to pull him under.

Somewhere a store’s front light flickered on, sufficiently spooking his attacker into fleeing, though not before he’d picked through Brian’s wallet and cleaned it out of everything worth having.

Squeezing his eyes shut Brian grabbed hold of the blood slicked glass, pulling it out inch by agonizing inch until it finally came free with a wet squelching sound that made him want to gag.

 

He set aside the broken bottle, hastily trying to apply pressure to the wound. It didn’t seem to matter though, the blood kept welling up between his fingers, pooling beneath him and staining the filthy pavement a shade of vermillion so dark it almost seemed black.

* * *

 

 

God, there was so much blood.

There shouldn’t have been that much blood.

Brian found himself chuckling, the sound getting stuck in his throat as blood gurgled up in it, threatening to choke him.

It would choke him, he realized.

 

If the blood loss didn’t kill him, which it very well could, then he’d drown in what little was left.

 

God, he was going to _die_ here.

 

He was going to die alone, in a pool of his own blood.

 

His thoughts trailed briefly to Tanner, wondering if he’d go to his funeral. Then they shifted to Dom, who he knew wouldn’t. Maybe Jimmy would though...

 

Slowly but surely the pain ebbed away and was replaced by a bone deep coldness that Brian knew was bad, really bad. His thoughts slowing with the dizzying blood loss and his weakening heart.

 

Whoever said that your life flashed before your eyes must have been on crack, his last thoughts had strayed to the carton of broken eggs laying beside him. The eggs he’d only allowed himself whenever there was a bit of money to spare were bleeding out on the filthy pavement just like he was.

 

Somehow he was pretty sure the world would mourn his shattered groceries more than they would mourn him.

 

After coming to that conclusion, it was easier for Brian to let go.

 

No one would even miss him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian O’Conner died.
> 
> By definition, he was dead for a total thirteen horrifying seconds, because some gangbanger with a busted beer bottle had gotten territorial.
> 
> Dumbass kid always was getting himself into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **“I don't understand how I can know so little about love and how it works. How I can be so bad at it when it's all I've ever wanted. All I've ever known is about leaving or being left.”**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _― Carrie Ryan_  
> 

**Ensenada, Baja California.**

Leon wasn’t insanely sentimental, but he always liked starting off his Saturday morning with some of Mia’s home cooking and a flip through the paper. Ever since they’d escaped to Baja that peaceful routine had kind of gone to shit.

His spanish was barely passable at best, which made deciphering the local papers a bit hard, for both him and Jesse who’s Spanish vocabulary was limited to the likes of colorful obscenities and food.

Luckily for them, they seemed to be in something of an odd majority. Enough of the tourists coming through spoke more English than Spanish and the resorts stocked their morning news stands accordingly. So every Saturday while Mia was puttering around cracking eggs and readying coffee, they’d hit up one of the luxury beachside resorts and buy a copy of the L.A. Times off one of the bellhops or valet drivers.

While Jesse poured over the comics and shoved spoonfuls of cereal in his mouth, Leon flipped contently through the paper over his morning cup of coffee and a plate of eggs.

“Anything interesting?” Dom rumbled, already sweaty and grease stained from an early shift in the garage they’d opened up around the corner.

“Nah, just stuff about holiday shopping”. Leon replied, watching the tension bleed out of Dom’s shoulders as he scraped his eggs out of the pan Mia had made.

For them, no news was good news. Ever since Brian had been fired, their names had steadily stopped making as many headlines, until the headlines had stopped all together. It kinda sucked, having to leave Brian high and dry after he’d saved Jesse and after he’d let Dom go, but as long as they didn’t talk about the blond they could all pretend they didn’t feel quite so guilty about it.

Dom nodded in acknowledgement, ruffling Jesse’s hair as he passed toward the veranda, presumably to join Letty and Mia.

Leon kept flipping through the holiday articles, content that nothing seemed to have gone horribly wrong back at home. He’d been ready to fold it up and set it aside when a familiar face caught his eye. His breath hitched as he did a double take, eyes roaming over the familiar blond curls and bright blue eyes.

Brian’s pictured stared up from the print. It was one of those dorky staged shots that oddly resembled a school yearbook photo, what with his pressed police uniform and the generic gray background. If Leon had to guess he’d say it was probably from the other man’s first few years on the force, he looked even more baby faced than Leon remembered, his smile wide and genuine as he looked toward the camera.

Leon had to reread the name captioned beneath the picture three times before he was sure that it wasn’t a misprint. “Shit..” He exhaled quietly, slouching back in his chair like he’d just been sucker punched.

Jesse glanced up from across the table, tilting his head like a curious puppy as milk dribbled down his chin. “Wassup man?” He asked, muffled by a mouthful of cereal.

Leon sighed heavily and raked his fingers through his hair before lifting his gaze, meeting Jesse’s bright eyes with a pained grimace.

“Brian’s dead.”

A spoon clattered against the table, the metallic clang resonant in the otherwise oppressive silence.

 

* * *

 

**Los Angeles, California.**

Tanner watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest carefully, the drone of beeping machinery and the hiss of the ventilator a steady white noise at the back of his mind.

They’d lost him twice, once en route to the hospital and once on the table.

The first time it happened they had him back almost as soon as they’d lost him, the second time though had taken considerably more effort.

Brian O’Conner died.

By definition, he was dead for a total thirteen horrifying seconds, because some gangbanger with a busted beer bottle had gotten territorial.

Dumbass kid always was getting himself into trouble.

After the doctors had shocked the blond’s heart back into working order, the surgery was relatively mundane. There was a lot of stitches holding him together and the bottle had nicked his lung, but the nurses and doctor both agreed the ventilator was just a precaution until Brian woke up for good.

He’d been in and out a few times over the past couple of days, muttering nonsense about broken eggs and Toretto.

Tanner had expected the ramblings about Toretto to be bitter, hateful actually.

After all, the man and his crew had left Brian behind to mop up their mess. While they were out galavanting around god knows where, doing god knows what...Brian was in here, pricked with a half dozen different needles and tubes, with some strangers blood dripping into his body because he’d left nearly all of his own on the night shadowed pavement.

Instead they sounded...apologetic, almost wistful in a way that Tanner had no hope of understanding.

That’s why he’d done it, why he’d put out the word that Brian was dead.

The poor kid, as much of a pain in the ass as he was, didn’t deserve to live the rest of his life with glares pinning him down and ghosts of criminals past hovering in his peripheral vision.

Brian deserved the chance to move on.

Tanner had called in every favor ever owed to him to do it, to get Brian a fresh start with a badge and a gun and a purpose beyond Dominic Toretto and his merry band of misfits.

“Sir?”

Tanner turned toward the door, an uncomfortable patrolman hovering with one foot in the room and one foot out.

“We’ve published the obituary, we’ll be arranging the funeral for this weekend.” The patrolman explained, finally stepping inside and shutting the door behind himself, his eyes kept steadfastly off of Brian’s prone figure. “You’re sure about the service, Sir? It isn’t exactly…” He trailed off, obviously looking for some tactful way of saying that the planned services were no better than those held for prison inmates.

“He was fired from the department, Officer Alvarado. We can’t very well bury his empty coffin with full honors. Seeing as his only family is dead and no one but a seventeen year old kid has come forward as a friend, it would only be realistic to assume he’d be given the most basic of burials.”  Tanner replied coolly. “His life insurance would have been enough to cover the square of ground we’ll put the pine box in, as well as the stone they’ll place above it.”

It was a bare bones process, no fluff or grandeur.

If Toretto got any sick ideas of coming back, Tanner wanted him to know just what he’d reduced Brian to. He wanted him to know, that because of him, the blond was nothing more than a dirty cop in the eyes of the force and a narc in the eyes of the racers.

“I understand, Sir.” Alvarado replied, inching his way back toward the door.

Tanner glanced back up, spearing the other man with an icy glare. “As I understand it, Officer Alvarado, Brian was a good partner to you when you were working the beat together. If you can’t do him the courtesy of sparing him a glance, even after he’s taken a bullet for you, then I fully expect you to do him the courtesy of keeping this arrangement a secret.” He said, an underlying threat beneath the words, one that promised swift and devastating retribution in the event that word got out.

“Yes, Sir...of course Sir.” The man had the wherewithal to look suitably chastised, ducking out the door with mumbled apologies.

Tanner dropped his gaze back to the bed, to Brian’s sickly pale complexion, the bruises smudged beneath his eyes, and the banaged scrapes along his cheeks. All he could do was wonder how one man had taken the bright, fierce, lion of a man that Brian had grown into and some how forced him back into the despondent shell of a boy he’d been back when he’d first showed up at the Academy in Barstow.

“You’ve always had shitty taste in friends kid.” Tanner muttered, adjusting his glasses and flipping open the Saturday paper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you all so much for the kind words of encouragement! All the kudos and comments make my world go round.  
> I hope you all enjoyed Chapter 2, let me know what you thought :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that was left of the blond was his name and the dates that marked his arrival in the world and his untimely exit.
> 
> Dom traced the words with his fingers, his thoughts drifting back to the previous Saturday.
> 
> It had started off as a such a beautiful morning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **“What you are to do without me I cannot imagine.”**
> 
>  
> 
> _― George Bernard Shaw_   
> 

Wind licked across the water starved grass, carrying with it the stench of oil and flame.

Dom stood atop the hill, secluded in the shade of a dying willow and crumbling graves that had long ago been forgotten. He watched the shadows of chipped stone angels stretch across the brittle expanse of faded green, edging toward the small procession below.

There were six of them, in total.

A chaplain, two gravediggers, the sergeant he’d seen in the paper after the truck jackings, a cop he didn’t recognize, and a teenager who- even from a distance-seemed to resemble Jesse.

There was no color guard, no bagpipes or bugle, and the soft pine of the casket lacked the draping of a flag.

It was a grimly efficient affair, without eulogies or honors.

Dom traced the motions of the chaplains hands as he crossed the coffin with a quiet prayer, before it was lowered into the cold, dark depths of the earth. The kid scrubbed at his eyes a couple of times and Dom could see the way his shoulders shifted as he sniffled, but the few other attendees stood by solemnly as the first few shovels of dirt were dumped back into the freshly cut grave.

It felt wrong to stand there and watch, guilt sitting heavy in his gut, but he couldn’t look away.

The sergeant lifted his gaze, peering out from beneath the brim of his cap.

There was a ferocity in his eyes that made Dom’s breath catch when he met them. He half expected for the alarm to be raised, for uniforms to descend on the hill enmass to take him into custody.

But they never appeared.

Instead, the old man turned away. He saluted the mostly covered casket before taking his leave, the other officer and the kid following in his wake.

Dom waited for the gravediggers to finish replacing the mound of displaced soil, before ambling down the hill. He stopped before the rectangle of freshly turned ground, crouching so that he was sitting on the heels of his feet in order to read the bland slab of stone that marked Brian’s final resting place.

There was nothing even remotely remarkable about it.

There was no touching epitaph, or ornate carving.

It read simply and without prejudice:

**Brian James O’Conner**

**July 14, 1978 - December 18, 2003**

All that was left of the blond was his name and the dates that marked his arrival in the world and his untimely exit.

Dom traced the words with his fingers, his thoughts drifting back to the previous Saturday.

 

It had started off as a such a beautiful morning...

****  
  


* * *

 

_Leon paced around the living room, his eyes darting toward the french doors thrown open over the veranda, lace curtains fluttering in the cool ocean breeze._

__

_“You have to tell ‘im.” Jesse said softly, wringing his hands nervously. He’d scrubbed the tears from his face, his eyes red and bloodshot like they used to be when he was tweaking. “You have to tell ‘im. He’s gotta know.” The kid repeated, taking the occasional step toward the open doors before backtracking several more in the opposite direction._

__

_“I know, I know.” Leon muttered, raking his hands through his hair as laughter floated in from outside. “Damn it...damn it.” He breathed shakily, debating the merits of burning the article and leaving the rest of the team in the dark. After all, Brian was already dead, there was no helping him now. Telling them would only give that hollowed out shadow of regret that lingered in Dom’s eyes a reason to take root and fester._

__

_Leon was ready to turn away, ready to allow himself the luxury of taking the easy way out just this once...but before he found the nerve, Jesse had bolted past him, snatching the paper out of his hands and scrambling out onto the veranda._

__

_Mia, Letty, Vince, and Dom were lounging around the patio table. Their gazes drifted toward him as Jesse approached, the smiles slipping from their faces as they took in his trembling hands and red rimmed eyes._

__

_Dom opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, Jesse cut him off by dumping the paper on the table. It landed square on Vince’s plate and sent the other man’s eggs flying, soiling his jellied toast with ink and news print._

__

_Vince lurched forward with a squawk of indignation, peeling the paper out of his breakfast, his face contorting with rage as he turned to yell at the kid for being so spastic. “Damnit Jesse, what the hell was that for?” He demanded, eyes skittering over the paper and sticking on a familiar halo of blond curls and bright blue eyes._

__

_Vince froze, halfway to his feet, one hand still out stretched to grip the paper while the other was braced on the arm of his chair. He read and reread the small square of print, his stomach sinking as he parsed out the words._

Brian O’Conner, a former member of the LAPD, was killed near Echo Park late Friday night in what appeared to be a mugging gone wrong. He will be laid to rest on Tuesday at Sunnyside Cemetery in Long Beach. He was twenty-seven.

__

_It was a painfully lacking obituary and Brian’s blinding grin looked ill placed above the cold words._

__

_Vince sank slowly back into his chair, eye flickering toward Dom._

__

_He was on his feet, his skin a sallow pale beneath his natural tan as he stared at the small article. Vince could read the pain in his friend's eyes, the guilt that seemed to crack through the sense of betrayal that had driven them out of their home and into the depths of Mexico._

__

_“Dom...” Mia looked to be on the verge of tears as she reached for her brother, her slender fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist._

__

_“Don’t be stupid.” Letty cut in, her lips pulled thin in a tight grimace. “He let you go Dom. Don’t jeopardize the gift he gave you, he wouldn’t thank you for it.” She said firmly, steadfast, despite the shadow of regret in her eyes._

__

_Dom glanced between them both, before gently disentangling himself from Mia.“Letty’s right.” He agreed solemnly, folding the paper shut and schooling his face into a mask of cool indifference. “There isn’t anything we can do for him now.”_

__

_Mia opened her mouth to protest, but Dom was already gone, disappearing inside with quiet grumblings of putting in some time balancing the books._

__

_Vince wasn’t fooled though._

__

_Brian had lied to them, betrayed them even when he decided to pull his gun on Dom. But before that, he’d almost been family, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Dom was just going to let that go._

__

_He’d been staking out the garage for hours, hidden in the shadows and hung up on thoughts of a man that had saved their lives and simultaneously destroyed them._

__

_It was just past two in the morning when Dom eased open the side door, snatching up the keys to one of the Hondas, a small travel bag slung over his shoulder._

__

_Vince let him get all the way around to the driver's side, before stepping out of the shadows. “Going somewhere?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking an unimpressed eyebrow._

__

_Dom didn’t jump like most people would have, but even in the dim light, Vince could see the tension that coiled up in his shoulders. It was like a wire pulled taut until it was on the edge of snapping, ready to lash out at anything and everything in its path._

__

_“Go back inside, Vince.”_

__

_There had probably been a time and place where he would have listened without protest, but it wasn’t here and it wasn’t now._

__

_“I’ve got my own debt to settle, Dom.” He cocked the shotgun he’d spent the afternoon cleaning. It was the same one he’d beat against Brian’s head all those months ago. If the fact he was going out hunting for the pig’s murderer with the same weapon he would have used to kill him himself wasn’t a little ironic he didn’t know what was._

__

_“I owed blondie one for my life, another for Jesse’s. So if you’re going, I’m going with you.” Vince insisted, climbing into the passenger seat without waiting for an invitation or approval._

__

_It took a minute, but Dom climbed in after him._

__

_In a lifetime of racing, Vince had never seen Dom push a car as hard as he did on that stretch of road that separated them from Los Angeles._

__

* * *

 

 

Vince edged up behind Dom, taking in the lackluster headstone with a grimace. He reached out tentatively, settling a hand on the larger man’s shoulder, the muscle pulled tight beneath his grip.

“Dom...we gotta go.” It was a fact that couldn’t be ignored, not even in favor of grieving. Their window of opportunity to hunt down the son-of-a-bitch that was responsible narrowed considerably with each minute that ticked by.

It took a couple of seconds, Vince watched Dom place his palm flush against the unyielding stone, his lips moving in a brief prayer before he rolled back up to his feet.

The last time Vince could remember seeing that steely set to the man’s shoulders was when he took a wrench to Kenny Linder’s head.

This time around, he doubted whoever was responsible for killing the Buster was going to get off with something as slight as a permanent limp.

  
Death sounded like a much more agreeable sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! 
> 
> And thank you all for such wonderful comments, they keep my world going round and my keys clicking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom had done a lot of shady dealing, for no reason other than it thrilled him. 
> 
> He’d stepped in with scum and lowlifes, worse he’d dragged others with him.
> 
> Then Brian came along, with his stupid smile and bright eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **“We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else.”**
> 
>  
> 
> _― Libba Bray_  
> 

****

Dom had done a lot of shady dealing, for no reason other than it thrilled him.

He’d stepped in with scum and lowlifes, worse he’d dragged others with him.

Then Brian came along, with his stupid smile and bright eyes. Even if Spilner had been a lie, the Brian part, _that_ part had been real. He’d looked out for a team that wasn’t his own, he’d given far more than his betrayal had taken when he offered up the Supra, and when his back was up against the wall long after they’d all fled for the safety of Mexico, he’d held his tongue with more loyalty than a dog.

Because even the strongest dog squealed when it was hit hard enough.

Brian didn’t. Not when they threw him in a cell and threatened to throw away the key, not when they took his badge and gun, or when his accounts ran dry from paying fees for crimes he wouldn’t have had to commit if not for Dom.

He’d sunk his teeth into his tongue and didn’t dare give an inch, because he’d known Bilkins and his shoe lickers would have taken a mile.

Brian had given up all of what precious little he had, and Dom had left him to rot.

So maybe this was his punishment.

No, there was no _maybe_ about it, this was his punishment. He deserved this, the feeling of his stomach sinking to his toes, or his heart stuttering against the cage of his ribs.

The stain was nearly two feet around and while it was slightly faded, it was still impossible to miss. He stared at it, the story playing over in his head, his imagination providing vivid and unwelcome imagery.

Brian loading up on groceries with his holiday bonus, hustling through the cold night only to be accosted by some thug, the likes of which Dom was uncomfortably familiar with. He could see the fight play in his head, Brian thoroughly kicking ass, only to show restraint at the last moment. Because, while Brian was a lot of things, cruel, certainly wasn’t one of them. The blond had let up, had trusted the son-of-a-bitch to have the decency to take the loss for what it was.

For all his misplaced faith he’d paid the price in blood, a broken bottle plunged into his gut, bled out like a stuck pig on the filthy pavement.

Dom clenched a fist, his other hand pressed to the stain that marked the spot where Brian had taken his last breath. “We should have brought him to Baja.” He rumbled, his guilt like a lead weight, dragging him down under currents of rage and regret.

“None of us could’ve known this was what we were leavin ‘im.” Vince said softly, his crossed arms and stiff posture belying the weight on his own shoulders. He wouldn’t look at the stain directly, his eyes flitting from the edge of the mark to anywhere else every few seconds.

“You don’t turn our back on family, even when they do.” Dom quoted, a cardinal rule on their island of misfit toys. “We did, we turned our backs when he needed us the most...All our sins and he’s the one that paid for them.” He barked out a hollow laugh, easing back up into a standing position, not once lifting his gaze from the stained concrete.

“Turning us in would have made his career, would’ve made everything he’d worked for worth it. And the crazy ass white boy threw it away, for us.” Dom shook his head, jamming his hands into the pockets of his leather coat.

Vince had to bite back the retort that welled up in his throat.

He’d only known Brian for a few months, most of which he’d spent trying to gut him himself, but he was positive that the blond hadn’t had any intention of sacrificing himself for the team.

He might of had it in him to keep his mouth shut, no one on either side of the law valued narcs-- but handing over the keys to his car and getting tossed from his career?

He’d done that for Dom.

The rest of them were just lucky enough that they meant enough to Dom that Brian’s misplaced sense of loyalty and screwy bambi eyed adoration extended to them as well.

“Let’s go, I wanna talk to Hector, see if anyone in the circuit has a name yet.”

Vince hung back for a moment, watching Dom stride back to the car. The other man’s shoulders were hunched forward, tremors running down his back. Vince doubted the shaking had anything to do with the cold. Dom was a big man, in every sense there was, but with the weight of the guilt and regret on his shoulders, he seemed to be wilting, like a fucking rose cut from it’s bush.

Huffing a sigh, Vince spared one good look at the faded, rusty shadow. “Damn you, O’Connor.”  He muttered, drawing his jacket tighter around himself as he followed after Dom, sliding wordlessly into the passenger seat.

* * *

****  
  


“Dom, Vince!” Hector opened his arms out wide, a smile pulled across his lips.

The garage was nearly empty, save for the two mechanics poking around the shell of a pretty promising  looking Mazda. While the welcome was warm, Vince saw the flicker of confusion in Hector’s eyes. He was surprised to see them, and wary of the trouble that normally came nipping at their heels.

“I didn’t expect to see you around these parts for a while brother, everything alright?” Hector asked, after releasing Dom from a one armed hug.

“Brian’s dead.” Vince answered, watching as Dom subtly flinched at the words.

Hector noticed too, frowning as he glanced between them. “I know, it was in the papers. Word got around the circuit pretty quick.” He hedged, taking a step back before turning and picking up a copy of the paper and offering it to them. “It’s sad man, especially considering the holiday season and all that shit. But folks around here were pretty rough on the kid, he was scraping the pavement just trying to get by. In all honesty it was probably a long time coming.”

Dom shook his head, his fist closing tight over the paper until it crinkled in his hands. “What the hell was he doing in Echo Park?”

Hector shrugged, “It was the only place he could afford...I mean you should know man, not many people are willing to hire a guy with a record unless they’ve got one themselves, let alone a guy with a record and a nasty habit of rolling with pigs. He was lucky to get the work that he did, most people around here wouldn’t have let him scrape the scum off their dumpsters.”

Vince crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you take him on Hector? You knew what Buster was capable of, his talents had to have outweighed his reputation, or at least outpriced it.” He said, shifting to lean against one of the concrete support pillars.

“It might have, if you guys had still been around.” Hector allowed with a slight nod of acknowledgement. “But after shit hit the fan, it was too risky to bring him in... LAPD kept close tabs on him, the Trans were out for revenge, and he’d effectively forced you guys over the border...you know as well as I do that racers will put up with a lot of shit, but not that much.”

Dom shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a terse grimace. “I want a name Hector, I want a fucking name.” He growled, the paper tearing in his vice like grip.

“There’s a lot of rumors going around, stupid teenage wannabe gangbangers who want the credit without doing the dirty work.” Hector replied, tucking his hands in his pockets and shifting to lean against the hood of the super up Honda he’d been working on. “But there’s one guy, Rafa Villalobos. He started bragging around at races about slaughtering a pig, if the bruises his lady is trying to cover are any indication, he’s a borracho with a temper.”

Vince straightened a bit, leaning forward. “Where can we find him?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow, the phantom weight of a shotgun resting in his palms.

Hector swallowed thickly, his gaze darting between Dom and Vince. “Same place you can always find him, the Monte Carlo Bar.” He answered, the question of why they wanted to know clearly burning on the tip of his tongue.

Dom was out the door before he ever got the chance to ask, Vince sweeping out after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! I truly appreciate all the lovely comments and kudos, summer just happens to be ab it of a busy time for me. I hope you all enjoyed the update, sorry it was so short!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, kudos, and requests for apology cookies over emotional damages, are always welcome.


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